


Two Northern Queens

by kitkatkaylie



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/F, Hurt/Comfort, Jeyne Westerling Point of View, Jeyne has a type, Past Jeyne Westering/Robb Stark, Post-Canon, Sansa Stark is Queen in the North, and that type is ginger ruler of the North
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-08
Updated: 2020-05-08
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:42:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24080770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kitkatkaylie/pseuds/kitkatkaylie
Summary: Sansa Stark was sad and quiet, Jeyne thought, but sometimes she would smile and the whole room would light up.Two Northern Queens after all the battles, trying to rebuild together.
Relationships: Sansa Stark/Jeyne Westerling
Comments: 2
Kudos: 30





	Two Northern Queens

Sansa was very quiet and very sad, Jeyne thought. Not confident and loud like her brother, even the news of Theon’s betrayal, of the loss of Brandon and Rickon had not quieted him.

But Jeyne had never heard Queen Sansa speak loudly, had never seen her throw her head back and laugh brashly. Even her footsteps were muted against the stones of the floor, a quirk that had been known to startle many a lord at times.

She always seemed so sad as well, the ghosts of her family following her around Winterfell, dogging her footsteps and shadowing her decisions. Jeyne knew these ghosts as well, the ghost of Robb and the children they might have had, the life they might have had, had the world been a kinder place.

They exchanged stories sometimes, tales told in the darkness of the night, a warm fire and a pot of tea between them. Sansa would tell Jeyne of the Winterfell of her childhood, of how the corridors range with laughter and the mischief that Robb would plan. In return Jeyne would tell her of Riverrun, of those weeks she spent at Robb’s side, as he frantically tried to save Sansa and the love that had guided every action of Catelyn’s.

Jeyne liked to think that her stories brought comfort to Sansa, although often she could not tell from the expression on Sansa’s face, sometimes, just sometimes, if the day had gone well and the fire burned a little brighter, then she would spot a smile or hear the quietest of giggles.

Winterfell always seemed a little brighter after that, the ghosts less heavy.

Sansa was not like Robb very much at all, except in the ways that she was. Jeyne did not think Robb would have thought to set up a school for midwives as Sansa had done, and yet the care for her people which had prompted it was care she knew Robb had felt. She doubted that Robb would have made fortnightly trips to the orphanage in Winter Town to ensure the children were cared for, but she knew he would have ensured it was well funded.

She had loved Robb for his kindness and care, and now, now when she looked at Sansa she felt the same warmth bloom in her chest that had flowered into love once upon a time.

Jeyne did not share her feelings though, sure they would be unwelcome, that Sansa would think she was confusing her and Robb. Jeyne herself had wondered about it at first, and then she had started to notice that feeling when Sansa was doing things Robb would never have done.

When Sansa finished a piece of embroidery and her eyes lit up, she felt that warmth. When she came across her teaching the child of one of the maids how to weave a wreath of flowers, she felt that warmth. When Sansa tore an upstart lord to shred with her words, she felt that warmth.

She had almost kissed Sansa on the day that she announced they would hold a day of remembrance for all those killed in the War of the Five Kings and the Long Night, one held on the anniversary of the Red Wedding. But it would not have been appropriate to kiss her good-sister at the news of a day of mourning for her dead husband so she refrained.

Once she had thought the North to be a dark, savage place, and its people to be just as cruel and cold as the weather; but when watching the preparations for the memorial, she wondered how exactly she could have ever thought such a thing.

Every bough of greenery was made with care, every preparation made for the feast handled so no one would go hungry from the poorest man to the queen herself. Every action was done with care and love, for those they had lost and the queen that led them.

The days itself was a solemn affair, where those who wished to gathered in the Godswood or Sept to pray for those they had lost.

Jeyne visited neither, she prayed in the crypts instead, before the statue of her husband and the casket that was empty of his bones. She prayed that he was at peace, that he had those of his friends and family who were also gone around him. She asked him for forgiveness, for not following him, for the feelings she felt for his sister.

She did not know if he heard her, but she liked to think that he would be happy for them both, that they might some small piece of joy in the world.

The sound of a footsteps upon the stone turned her from her contemplation of the carved face of her husband to meet eyes the same blue his had been.

“Apologies if I disturbed you.” Sansa said, as softly as ever, “I believe I had the same idea as you. I want to pay my respects without the lords watching me.”

Jeyne bowed her head, “You did not, do not, disturb me. Besides, you have more right to be here than I.”

Something passed between them, an understanding of sorts and a spark of something else.

Later when Jeyne looked back she would not remember who initiated it, for it seemed as though they moved together as one, their inhibitions loosened by the grief of the day.

Their lips pressed together, gently at first and then more forceful, as though they were trying to reassure themselves that they were not alone, that their grief was shared and that someone still cared for them.

And when they broke apart, breathing heavily and gazing into each other’s eyes Jeyne no longer felt like she could compare Robb to Sansa, that any comparison would be unfair for only one sibling still lived. Only one sibling was looking upon her like she was a fire in the midst of winter or a glass of water in the desert.

“Sansa, I-” Jeyne tried to apologise for her actions, for her impudence, but found herself cut off by a single, elegant finger pressed against her lips.

“Do not apologise for something so sweet.” Sansa said, before turning painfully shy, “Unless it was something you did not want, in which case I must be the one to apologise.”

Jeyne reached out and clasped her hands before she could turn away, “It was something I did want, a sweet thing I have wanted for many moons now.”

Sansa’s lips curved up into a smile so beautiful that Jeyne felt she could write odes to it, “Then I thank you. And perhaps, if it is not too much trouble, we might share some wine by the fire in my chambers later?”

Jeyne squeezed her hands and smiled back, “I would be delighted to. I shall leave you to your prayers now though, let you have some peace with your family.”

She squeezed Sansa’s hands once more and as she passed her husband’s statue the play of shadows made it almost look like he was smiling at them. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! 
> 
> If you like this and want to chat about this fic, or in general, find me on tumblr @istaricelebelasse


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